Friday, March 29, 2013

11 years

Eleven years ago today, I married this guy who is an avid sports fan.  A serious lover of KU basketball.

And he married me during the NCAA basketball tournament.

A year that Kansas lost in the Final Four.  While we were on our honeymoon.  On a cruise ship, in the southern Caribbean.

This was before WiFi was everywhere.  

Before smartphones.

Before DVR.

The tournament schedule was to-be-announced when we chose our wedding date, but Bryan had to have known that he'd miss the entire last week of games.

And he still married me.

Our relationship has always been far more practical, simple and sporty than romantic.  I clearly remember the first time it registered with me that he was someone special.  I was slouched down on his couch, making him laugh with something I'd said, when he looked at me from across the room, smiled and said, "You're so cute."  It was not grandiose.  It was not "romantic" (by candlelight and rose petals standards).  There was absolutely no effort put into it.  It was simply natural and real...and he'd stolen my heart with it.

And I know he was hooked early on too.  We were at a Comets game, and the cheerleaders were tossing t-shirts into the crowd.  It had been a very fun and exciting game...and I was totally caught up in the moment.  When a cheerleader launched a balled-up t-shirt in our direction, I dove into a crowd of kids to catch it.  I came up empty-handed, but he loved my spunk.

And me.

Today we celebrate 11 years of marriage.  Like every marriage, we've had our ups and downs, but our relationship is typically easy and comfortable, generally little-to-no-fuss.  It works for both of us.

Flowers, heels, jewelry, the symphony, expensive dinners, rented limos.  It's just not our thing.

In our marriage, sexy is intelligent conversation mixed with a heavy dose of laughter.  Sexy is my man preparing dinner, washing the dishes, or picking up a chick flick for At-Home Date Night.  Or date mornings consisting of anything from breakfast, Starbucks, grocery shopping, or a bike ride to a doctor's appointment or early voting.  It's my guy providing biblical answers when our kids ask tough questions about sex, hatred, crime, punishment, and the like.  Sexy is my husband soothing our distraught son or attending a parent teacher conference alone...while sexy Mom stays home with the other son who has strep throat and the flu.  Sexy is my kids' dad on a pink Jeep in Camp Snoopy, at a kid's dental appointment, volunteering in kindergarten, or helping me grade papers long after the kids have gone to bed.  Sexy is this sweet man putting gas in the van when I've forgotten that the light came on five miles ago.

And sexy is sporting events.  My man loves when I get crazy cheering...or yell at the refs over a bad call.

Sexy around here is partnership, an attitude of service and cooperation, a desire to meet the others needs and lighten their load.  Sexy is fun, laughter, love.

If I had to don heels, cocktail dresses and eye make-up to float my husband's boat...we'd be up a creek and my load would be anything but lightened!

So, for my man on our anniversary...

These eleven years of marriage have been the happiest and most fulfilling of my entire life.  I've loved growing up (and older) with you.  You make me happy.  You make me laugh.  I know love, in large part, because of you.

Thanks for being so simple, and for letting me be simple.

In keeping with simplicity and tradition, I got you a new barbecue grill.  It is cute and smaller than the last one.  It will look really good on our deck...and eventually the patio that you're going to build.

I'll have filets for you to grill for dinner.  Or I can grill, if you'd like.

And the KU game will be on.

I promise to shout at the TV.

And I painted my toes red instead of going with the purple that had initially caught my eye.  You're welcome.

Now...  I can't do anything to make this happen, but I am hoping and praying that our beloved Jayhawks actually show up for the first half tonight and follow that up with an exciting win.

You deserve it.

Especially after that Final Four loss that you watched alone in a ballroom, on a cruise ship, on our honeymoon...

I'm sorry I petered out and napped during that game.  I had no idea then that I'd be blogging about it 11 years later!  (Did I ever thank you for letting me nap?)

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